The Prince and the Court Painter
by EnKaren
Summary: She only knew one side of Nekozawa, Umehito: the prince of his kingdom. Three years later, their paths crossed once more and the girl discovers another side of Nekozawa. This is a story about the artist responsible for the portrait of Nekozawa, which is now doodled with Beelzenef's face.
1. Prologue

**_P_ _rologue_**

The day she glided the last stroke along his ever blue eyes was the day she abandoned the brush. It was the last time that she took a step back and gazed at her subject- unsure if she was welcoming her painting into creation or greeting it farewell.

Yes, it was the last day of her world filled with the scent of paint that she grew so accustomed with, the brushes and mixing plates with paints scattered everywhere, and the hands blotted with colors. It was the day that she had set off to the monochromatic world where her hands will be the blank canvas and her mind will be restricted of creativity.

The day she dropped her brush was the day she lost a friend. And to think that she'll never see his sapphire eyes ever again doubled the weight in her chest.

She'll miss him dearly.


	2. Ch 1 - All Princes are Blonde

_**Chapter 1 - All Princes are Blonde**_

Three years.

It's been three years since I visited my uncle's studio, which apparently belongs to me now. I had no other intention but to grab bright or dark paints and a good ol' brush.

Dust accumulated every corner of the room. I pitied the unfinished artworks left by my uncle and some by me. Before I could decide whether I should sell the remaining works of my uncle or not, two easels caught my attention situated near the curtained windows, radiating a hint of the morning sun. One easel was empty while the other holds a blank canvas.

I looked away.

Brushes were scattered on the already messy table. Mixing plates in various sizes, paint tubes, charcoal sticks, soft pastels—all of which defined what I had been three years ago: an artist.

I stopped when my uncle fell ill, but reasons don't matter now. I grabbed what I needed and casted one last glance before I left the studio—quiet and deserted. As if art was sleeping and its familiar magic now stagnant.

It was my choice to leave this fairytale three years ago. There's no point in going back now.

\- x -

Carriages and the crowd dominated the streets and I had to squeeze my way around in order to reach my destination, the local art shop. The brushes back in the studio were still good enough to make fine strokes, but most of the paints have dried up and I'm not in the mood reviving them.

Something ignited inside me as soon as I entered the shop. Paints, canvases, fine brushes, soft pastels, stacked easels, and more, all organized in a manner that invites a customer to inspect each kind of materials. Not good. My passion for art is gradually escaping from the grasps of my oath.

Nostalgia creeps in while I observe the place as I did in the past. I remember coming back here all the time just to purchase Prussian blue paint since I always use it on most of my paintings. I surveyed the array of paints and found the color instantly. I felt a thump on my chest. My heart, it doesn't lie. It likes being engulfed by the shop's atmosphere.

I took a deep breath.

Just for today. I'll walk in the artist's world just for today.

The usual shopkeeper noticed me standing by the entrance, shocked to see me. He blinked before he spoke.

"Noriko?"

I smiled as sincerely as I could, but my tension was probably apparent when I heard myself greet him with a weak voice. He didn't greet me back, though. I walked towards the counter and rested my palms on the varnished wood. I found myself tapping nervously.

"Oil paints—Prussian blue, crimson, and yellow," the shopkeeper said. "I believe that's what you're looking for, correct?"

This time, it was my turn to blink, "Yes."

"Is there anything else you'd like to purchase?"

"No, I…"

Unable to construct a solid sentence in the midst of my bewilderment, I looked down to my feet in hopes of gathering the right words to speak. I thought I'd repulse him for suddenly appearing in his shop after three years.

"Noriko."

I looked up and my eyes met his. He smiled and I saw my friend once more. My worries eased away as he patted my head with his right hand, messing with it in the same way he did before.

"Welcome back."

\- x -

We decided to grab a bite of sandwiches during his break time. I was opposed to the idea of loitering and sitting on the curbs outside his shop.

"You were never opposed to this before. Come, now. I know you missed this."

"I was _always_ opposed, Ryuuki," I countered. "I just end up surrendering once I find it pointless to argue."

"You cut your hair."

My hands found its way to my hair—reflex. I never fancied long hairs, anyway. It's too heavy and bothersome in the summer. I kept it on shoulder level.

"I just felt like it."

"I see."

I took a bite from my sandwich and was taken aback by a new taste, "Eggplant?"

"What do you think? Has my little sister improved?"

"Your sister made this?"

"Yep, she and her bizarre sandwich recipes," he sighed. "I'm worried about her."

I raised an eyebrow, "Well, isn't this very unusual."

"I'm serious, Noriko. Koori has been out more often than normal. A friend told me he saw my sister exit the Ouran Host Club."

"That's outrageous."

"I know, right?" he rested his head on his free hand, "My dear sister captivated by a host's charms? She's only fourteen!"

"Oh, that _is_ a concern. Let me help you."

"But—"

"This is my way of thanking you for the sandwich," I looked down, knowing that the following words require a pinch of courage that I can't seem to muster for some reason. "And thank you for understanding me. I thought you'd be furious, appearing in your shop after three years without notice. I should be ashamed."

"Last time I checked, you came in as a customer. There's no need to notify me of your visit. Second, I'm not angry. You had every reason for your actions."

Relief washed over me. I forced myself to sniff away the tears, "Thank you."

\- x -

After swallowing the last bite of sandwich, we discussed more about the Ouran Host Club. Despite hearing about them the first time, I was able to reach one solid conclusion: they're nothing but a bunch of rich, obnoxious people who are always up to no good. The prince, René Tamaki Richard de Grantaine Suoh, is apparently the head of the host club.

I've yet to hear anything that ruins his reputation, but since he's the mastermind behind the creation of such outrageous club, I already find him quite unpleasant. No doubt the future of the Suoh Kingdom is already threatened because of his easygoing character. Just because he's the prince doesn't mean he can do whatever he wants. He's very different from the prince I know sharing the same hair color.

And then we have Kyouya Ootori who appears to be more reliable and is said to be the one who truly runs the club since he's in charge of the money. The Ootori family serves the royal family, his father serving as the right-hand man of the king.

Mitsukuni Haninozuka and Takashi Morinozuka are the children of the knights. I wonder if they ate something bad that might've affected their sensibility on the day they joined the club.

Next are the inseparable Hitachiin twins namely: Hikaru and Kaoru. Their family manages the fashion industry and enrichment of the kingdom's culture, which includes music and art. They also hold one of the popular showcases of arts in the kingdom. I attended an exhibit hosted by them once with my uncle. And each time we stopped to observe a painting, his hands would gently pat my back as if he's encouraging me. But instead of gaining courage, sadness grew from my heart like there's a bubble continuously expanding through the spaces of my chest until I couldn't hold it in. It popped when I finally cried while my uncle wasn't looking. I was only eleven.

After that, I refused his invitations to any exhibit because I knew I'd feel the pressure of his expectations once more.

"Oh, and they have a recent recruit. His name is Haruhi Fujioka. Rumor says that he was caught in an incident where he was left with a humongous debt, so he works in the host club in hopes of paying it clean."

Poor guy. It must've been a challenge, dealing with a bunch of rich and noble bastards every day.

"How come you know so much about the host club?" I asked.

"The same friend shared some information to me. I also did a little research, talking to my customers and asking them what they know about the host club."

"I'll go."

"Pardon?"

"I'll go and confront them."

"I thought you'd help me out by confronting my sister, _not_ the club."

"But I need to find out whether it's a dangerous place."

"It's composed of men, Noriko. Of course it's a dangerous place. Or are you just curious?"

I scoffed, "You belittle me, Ryuuki. I'm not easily charmed by some obnoxiously gorgeous gentlemen. I'm immune."

"You can't even look away from a monkey. Why do you think I doubt you won't do the same to them? No matter how much you deny it, you're an artist through and through. You'd study their face features if given the chance."

Damn, he's right. He knows me too well.

"Tell your sister I'll be accompanying her tomorrow. My intentions are not solely composed of studying their skull structures and build; I need to see the other side of the mountain to understand your sister."

"Right, right, as you've insisted, I'll let my sister know." He said with little interest, but I sensed a hint of amusement. Before I could inquire more about it, he stood up and brushed the backs of his trousers. I followed.

"Guess I'll have to stock more Prussian blue from now on," he grinned. "Since you're finally back."

 _Just for today_ , I wanted to say. But seeing that he's thrilled by my return, I decided not to melt down his excitement with such news.

I thanked him once more for the sandwich and for talking to me. When I told him I'd be heading towards the train station, he offered to accompany me. I refused, letting him know that I shouldn't be interfering with this work anymore than breaks can suffice, so we exchanged farewells instead.

Ryuuki must've known that I was headed to the Nekozawa Mansion to consider accompanying me. Few people know that I only take trains when I visit the place, away from the noise and presence of the crowd.

I might meet him… might not. Either way, there's no relieving my nerves. Biting my lip didn't help.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : This is my first fanfic so don't hesitate to voice out your opinions. Trust me when I say I'll jump or roll on the floor out of joy if you send reviews. Thank you for reading my fanfic! ^_^


	3. Ch 2 - But That's Not True At All

_**Chapter 2 - But That's Not True At All**_

I reached my destination after half an hour trip and took it upon myself to study the foliage as I walk towards the mansion. When I looked up, I was greeted by the intertwined red crowns of trees, I could barely watch the clouds sail the skies. Winds blew, sweeping through the tangles of my hair. Closing my eyes I heard the murmuring of nature—leaves rustling, wings unwinding for flight, birds chirping—and the sound of my boots brushing against the dirt.

Such is a sweet refuge from the tumult of the city.

The Nekozawa Mansion isn't that hard to find once you're used to it, but three years aided plants and trees to grow both in numbers and lengths. Anyone can mistake the mansion as an abandoned and haunted structure because it's now hidden behind the foliage. I occasionally had to glide my arms to get through the barricading foliage and wild bushes.

High walls and high gates glowered down at my presence making me feel small. The gates bragged its beauty with detailed metal art, never failing to captivate me ever since my first visit.

Consumed in the moment of admiration, I was oblivious to the person across the gates until she called out to me.

"You're as hopeless as ever, Miss Anju," she said. "I bet no man can compete with these gates just to have your love and admiration."

"Oh, you must have high regards to speak of me in such a way."

"Honey, I assure you, that was not a compliment. That was meant as a concern. I'm confident you'd be mesmerized by the carvings once we reach the door."

She's not mistaken at all. I couldn't help but chuckle, "I missed you, Miss Kuretake, especially your pigtails."

\- x -

Being with me means having your patience challenged. Instead of sharing news of our current lives, we dedicated our time judging the sculptures and busts in the gallery hall. When we reached a particular bust, she didn't bother holding back an exasperated sigh.

"It's the nose, isn't it? You're going to complain about this poor man's nose as you always did in the past," she said, hands on her waist.

"You work here, yet you fail to realize that his nose is crooked. Uncle Shouji must've been eating my father's cooking when he sculpted this nose into existence."

"An accomplished man, indeed," she said with a grin. I know she meant it despite the added humor.

"Yes, he was," I gave the sculpture one last look. "Until the very end."

\- x -

Kuretake left me in the drawing room where she insisted that I enjoy tea before I get to work. Earlier, I did my best to politely turn down the offer because I didn't want to bother her any more than my visit caused, but she was persistent.

"No such thing, Miss Anju," she said as she lead me to the drawing room. "The prince is looking forward to see you."

"Umehito?" his name slipped out of my lips on its own accord, realization too late.

"Oh, my… First name basis without honorifics?" she smirked. "Let's hope it didn't go beyond that."

"Miss Kuretake!" If I was blushing, I didn't bother hiding it; though, I think I did after she gave me that wink.

Now I'm nervous meeting him.

From what I've heard, the prince hasn't returned to his country since our last meeting. Whatever kind of affair he's still dealing with our country remains unknown to me. He's seeing me for the sake of formalities—that bit I understand quite well.

As usual, the room is neglected of sunlight and only illuminated by candles. The grand piano still loyal to its own corner, the bookshelves to the right gained more books, and the two couches took the center of the room with the coffee table between. I grew accustomed to this setting to which the prince was comfortable. What's unusual is the thing sitting across me.

Just who is this cloaked creature? And what's up with that cat puppet?

Perhaps the prince wasn't around so this eerie creature would be entertaining me on his behalf. I admit, I'm rather grateful he couldn't make it. His presence would've overwhelmed me—my voice trapped in my throat. I'll never be ready to face him.

"Tea," he said, gesturing with his other free hand. "Before it gets cold."

"Oh," I reached for the tea, shocked that he can actually speak. "Thank you."

Thank the heavens, it's the usual tea. First time I mistook _Rhodiola Rosea_ from honey for having the same rich gold color. I had no idea how much I missed it until I took a sip. My nerves calmed instantly.

When I looked up from my tea, the creature was watching me. Despite the vibe that he's emitting, I shouldn't forget my manners. First, I have to introduce myself.

"It seems I haven't introduced myself. My name is Noriko Anju," I made a small bow from where I sat. "Nice to meet you."

I expected to hear his name in return, but he just sat there silent. Should I inquire?

"Um…" I uttered as I inspected his face for some features or an expression of distaste. "Are you perhaps Prince Umehito's sibling? I haven't seen you before."

Still no reply. Am I talking to a ghost?

Just as I was about to make another inquiry, he decided to speak.

"Kirimi is the only sibling I have."

Kirimi? Umehito's little sister? There are only two children of the Nekozawa Family; he can't be a sibling of Kirimi. This is confusing me.

"Forgive my inability to catch up, but who are you?" I asked, although I already have an idea of his identity, but I deny it still.

After half a minute of silence, he snickered once more and points at me with his free hand, "You painted me."

I gasped.


	4. Ch 3 - Dark Princes Do Exist

**_Chapter 3 - Dark Princes Do Exist_**

The creature sitting across me is Umehito. The creature sitting across me is Umehito. The creature sitting across me is Umehito.

It's the prince of Nekozawa Kingdom.

And he has undergone a very drastic change during the last three years. I remember being told about his phobia of light, but isn't this going way too far?

Consumed by my own thoughts, I gaped at him and must've looked stupid. Did he dye his hair dark? What about his eyes? And most alarmingly, what is that puppet?

No matter. I should treat him as I have treated him before. I should regard him with high respect and execute my manners perfectly.

I gave him the brightest and cheery smile I could manage. "Life must have been hard on you to end up into this pathetic creature now."

Ah.

"P-pathetic?" he asked, obviously taken aback by my bluntness.

Oh, heavens! Why must my sharp tongue take over my manners in the presence of a noble—a royalty! This is worse than our first meeting.

No. _This_ is the worst.

Calm down. Calm down. Let's analyze the situation once more; I blurted out my unfiltered opinion and now I'm too ashamed to even face him. The only thing to fix my mistake is to apologize.

"Forgive me for being tactless, Your Highness. I am prepared for whatever punishment you think I deserve," I said, bowing my head as low as I could.

"P-please raise your head, Miss Anju. You called me stupid when we first met. This isn't any different so it's fine."

I thought the mistake I just made was the worst, but he remembering our first meeting just snatched that title. I can't believe I just embarrassed myself twice.

My forehead is now touching the surface of the coffee table, shrinking lower in shame. "I shall chop my tongue off to compensate for my foolishness so you, or anyone else, wouldn't experience it next time."

In the middle of my repentance, I felt a presence on my right. I didn't look up to see who it was and kept my head down. They're here to chop off my tongue as I have suggested. I'm regretting those words now, but at least they're not going to chop off my hands.

"Miss Anju," not Umehito, but a female voice called. I realized that it belonged to Kuretake. "Miss Anju, please raise your head."

I did and my cheeks were pinched. I should've known.

"Get a grip of yourself, Miss Anju."

"But—"

"I believe this is not how any of you, youngsters, imagined your reunion to end up this way, am I right?" she loosened the pinches and cupped my cheeks. "Don't waste it. None of you could've prepared for the change, but confronting it this way is wrong. For starters, you should treat each other for who you are, not for what you are and what you have become. Do you understand me, Noriko?"

Hearing her call me by my first name caught my full attention, and I felt warm and happy inside. Speechless, I nodded.

She grinned and her hands left my cheeks and leaned back, resting it on the sides of her waist, and gave Umehito a smirk. What a bully.

"Do you need more assistance in dealing with girls, Prince Umehito?" she asked.

"Huh? Oh, right," he let out a small cough. "Thank you for your help. You may go."

Kuretake bowed and left the room, a playful smirk still plastered on her face. I made eye contact with Umehito the second I heard the door close.

"Umehito," I called out, not knowing what to say. He beat me to it, though.

"You cut your hair."

I couldn't hold back a giggle. I never giggle. Ever. Oh, dear. This reunion is wrecking my nerves and I can't keep my behavior constant. "That's the second time I heard it for this day."

"W-where did you keep it?"

"Keep what?"

"Your hair."

"My hair?" I swept a loose strand behind my left ear. Does he mean the one chopped off excess of hair? "Mother must've thrown them out or burned them along the piles of leaves."

"Unbelievable!"

"Isn't it? I also didn't think autumn would take over earlier than usual this year."

"Not the leaves—your hair!"

I frowned. "Are we seriously going to have an immersed conversation about my hair for this reunion?"

"You don't understand. Oh, what a waste! I could've used it to make you fall—" The puppet rushed to his lips, putting a stop to whatever words that followed.

"Fall?" Is he talking about the season? I didn't quite catch it. Make me fall where?

The puppet released him. "D-don't mind me. I'm just talking to myself."

"Well, whatever you say." I let myself enjoy the tea once more, all the while eyeing the cat puppet. Umehito never brought it with him through sittings during the painting sessions before. Is this a new trend? "Umehito, that puppet…"

"The name is Beelzenef." The puppet waved at me. "He wasn't allowed in the sessions because they say the painter might be distracted by him."

I guarantee that because I am that painter and I'd definitely be distracted.

"You're here… to sign my portrait painting, right?" Why must he proceed his question with such caution?

I nodded. "It's in my uncle's will. I can no longer refuse this time."

He fell silent. Perhaps I should've said it with high spirits, but I'm not fine. Should I force myself to be in a state opposite to what I'm truly feeling? I can't pretend to be okay because I'm certainly not okay. I'm still grieving for my uncle's death even though a month has passed.

"Noriko."

All my attention now focused on him. He finally called me by my first name and I saw my friend once again. I wish I could address him as openly and freely as we used to by calling each other's first name. I was too young to value formalities back then and speak whatever comes into mind without a second thought, which explains why I was rude to him in our first meeting. _Damn it, Noriko_.

"Yes?" I answered.

"As someone representing the royal family for this occasion, we sincerely offer our condolence for the passing of your good uncle. He has served our family with utmost diligence. I believe we'll never find another man as talented and devoted as your uncle."

Talented? Maybe. Devoted? Too much.

"And one more thing," he continued. "Now that the post is officially open, sooner or later someone has to take over the job. As his niece and apprentice, it is likely that you'll be the one to continue the legacy of your ancestors. However, if you decline, we'll be forced to find another."

I didn't know I had been gripping on my skirts until I looked down to hide my face. "I suggest you begin searching for a new court painter."

"There is no rush here, Noriko. Please try to consider the options before relaying your final decision to me."

I looked away, "I'm just a librarian now, Your Highness."

\- x -

We left the drawing room minutes after finishing our tea in haste brought by the tension from the recent conversation about my uncle. Outside, we were greeted by Miss Kuretake once more and informed us that the painting is ready and waiting in the studio for signing.

"We also prepared some paints and inks for you, Miss Anju. Feel free to use either," she added.

"Oh, you didn't have to go to such lengths for me. I brought my own materials," I said, showing my satchel. "And signing wouldn't take that long. I intend to finish my business here as soon as possible."

"You have other matters to attend to?"

"No, I just…"

I'm doing it again. I'm searching for words while looking down to my feet. Like the art shop, some force is pulling me closer to the world where my uncle breathed his whole life in; the same world that I worked so hard to escape. I'm quite content working as a librarian and I don't want today's encounter to change the life I built out of loss and failure. I don't want to go back.

A hand closed around mine, gently prodding me away from my musings. When I looked up to see who it was, Umehito had his eyes focused on me. He was too near. If I attempt to take a step back, wouldn't that be rude? This distance is making me uncomfortable. The only time I was this close to Umehito was three years ago which was necessary because I had to study his skull structure and his ever clear blue eyes and…

"If being here burdens you this much, then will it be okay if I visit you instead?"

I blinked. What is he saying? That's a bad idea, Umehito. A royalty visiting a commoner? Even though we're friends, our status will always be hinder to our friendship.

"You're right," I said. "I'm burdened, but that doesn't mean I hate being here. It's just that the memories are coming back and it's too much for my heart to handle."

"Does that also mean you'll visit again?" He asked with hopeful eyes. What happened to his creepy side?

"Today will be the last time I visit."

He let go of hands after a few seconds, dejected. "I see."

Something about his last words made me grit my teeth. What sort of feeling is associated to gritting of teeth? Guilt? I do feel a bit guilty for rejecting the idea that is most likely the cause of his dejection, but that's normal, right? If I gritted my teeth, wouldn't that mean I'm upset, angry even? I'm sure I'm not angry at all. Then perhaps—

"Miss Anju," Kuretake called, snapping me out of my train of thoughts. "This way."

\- x -

The walk to the studio was silent, but it was too loud inside my head. Why did he want to visit me if I don't come back here? Why, after three years without communication, did he plan to keep in touch after my business with the painting is done? I thought I made myself clear that I'm not taking over my uncle's job, so what other reason does he have to visit me?

We reached the door leading inside the studio, another room storing memories I didn't want to remember. Kuretake opened the door for us and I inhaled sharply as I let my remaining courage to push my body forward beyond the door.

There's something odd about this room. I blinked and realization rushed in. The room is well-lit now that the curtains have finally been casted open. Candles alone couldn't illuminate the entire room during my work here three years ago, but seeing the corners and details of the room changed the atmosphere I used to get lost myself into. It's as if I'm in a completely different room.

"It must have been a challenge to paint under dim conditions," Kuretake said, who is now standing near a draped flat, four-cornered object, which I believe is Umehito's portrait.

"Can't be helped. Prince Nekozawa is photophobic, after all." I looked to the prince on my right. "And it seems his condition has gotten worse."

He flinched in response, muttering, "I've always been this way…"

I was about to press him further about it but was quickly distracted by the undressing of the portrait from its drapes. A prince with blue eyes greeted me and… something… else.

One thing to mess with artists is to mess with his creations. Though retired, I found it quite hard to suppress my anger as soon as I set my eyes on a doodle of a familiar cat. I ripped my attention away from the portrait and my eyes found its way back to my former subject, who is so unlike the prince in the painting. I switched my gaze to his cat puppet and something snapped inside me. My hands formed into knuckles, not quite sure if I did that to stop the trembling of my hands or because I have lost control of my temper.

I'm still breathing, right?

There must be a reason—this vandal in my painting—my uncle's last painting—for our last masterpiece to be in this state.

Oh, no.

My tears. Don't. Not here. _Not here._

I looked at my companions to see what they think of me now that I'm obviously trying to suppress my anger. They just watched me, expressions firm.

Did they expect this reaction from me?

I forced myself to inhale in hopes that my nerves would calm down from shock, anger, confusion—but any attempt failed. My heart can't stop drumming and my vision was beginning to cloud.

How could they do this to me?

No amount of slow breath intakes will ever reduce my growing temper. Anger will make me do and say things I've never dared to commit before. For the first time in history, I glared at Kuretake.

"Don't… test me," I said with gritted teeth.

And with that, I turned to leave. They didn't call or follow me, which only proves that they knew this was going to happen, maneuvered or not.

Trying so hard to distract myself, my mind wandered back to finding out what feeling is associated with gritting of teeth. People, mostly men, do that when they prepare themselves for a beating in the face.

It wasn't feeling but a reaction.

A reaction to incoming pain.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** _Whew_ , I didn't expect for this chapter to be this long. You should give yourself a pat on the back for reading this far, but really thank you so much for reading! ^_^


	5. Ch 4 - Even Though He Wears Dark Wig

Chapter 4 - Even Though He Wears Dark Wig

My travel back home to the city yesterday was a blur—dazed and distracted and numb. I still am, though. I've been sitting on the carpet, leaning on the rear of my bed, and staring at the ceiling. My hand loosely held a paper—my uncle's letter. His last wish was to have my name signed on our last painting, but accomplishing that is no longer possible since my outburst yesterday.

I wonder what Kuretake thinks of me now? I wonder what _he_ thinks of me now? After what I told them before I walked out, I wonder if I've ruined anything else other than a reunion.

 _Don't test me._

I'm not even certain they were the ones who sabotaged it, but I made it clear that I am placing the blame on them by glaring… and that bitter hiss. Maybe it was a kid's doing—I don't know. I'm running out of reasons and the more I think about it, the more I'm ashamed of myself.

I sighed. I best not find myself in an awkward encounter with any of the Nekozawa nobles for now. My priority today is to work and accompany Ryuuki's sister after my shift ends. The only way to distract myself is work, so I stood up and prepared for the day.

\- x -

When my mother said that I needed to get out of my room and experience the world outside, she never implied that I find work—no. Unfortunately, she meant that I should meet up or go out with someone, find romance and adventure outside the hole I creep in. She was fairly disappointed when she heard that I'll be stuck in a building where the possibility of romance is close to nonexistent.

"At least you're not sulking anymore," she told me once while we were having tea one afternoon, although, too preoccupied with the embroidery to even spare me a look. She still wouldn't give up the idea of me encountering romance even if it had to occur while I walk to or from work. Everytime I'm about to leave the house, she'd catch up and hand me a parasol too pretty for my taste. When refusing doesn't work, I give her a quick peck on the cheek, tell her that I love her and run away, all to escape the parasol. Not that I dislike parasols, but if I had to choose, I'd rather sport hats over them. And not that I'm against Mother's interest on my journey to encountering romance, but I'm just not in the right condition to fall in love. People who are in the middle of repairing themselves tend to struggle to keep the love sparking, or so I believe.

\- x -

Back when I still visited my uncle in the studio, Father makes sure that I bring his brother a packed lunch. Force of habit. He still prepares two sets of packed lunch today, one for me and the other one for uncle. No one's ever told him to stop or remind him that no one is going to eat the lunch he prepared for uncle. He's fully aware of Uncle's death, but I guess he has not accepted it still.

Mother told me that Father can't move on just yet. That a life without his brother or ever making him lunch frightens him so. She told me that we needed to be there for him all the time so that when he is finally ready to accept the change, he'll know that he's not alone in the process of new beginnings. I wished nothing more than to help him move on and I would do anything even if I had to confront the past.

So I accepted to sign the painting despite my stubbornness that lasted three years. I would have refused it still had I not prioritized my father's well-being. I would've returned home a champion had I thought more of him back in the mansion's studio instead of thinking of my own feelings at that moment.

I'm so selfish.

As I thought, I just can't face my father. I've been stuck here in my room for several minutes now, contemplating whether I should go down and meet my father in the mess hall or not. If I leave without directly receiving packed lunch from him, the whole house will be suspicious and when I say the whole house, I meant me, Father and Mother, and the two maids.

I sucked in a breath as I forced myself to take a step out of my room. I should explain everything that transpired yesterday.

Father was alone in the mess hall. The maids are probably in the dining room arranging the plates and food. He heard me approaching before I could announce my arrival.

 _These boots are too loud._

"Good morning, Lavender." Again with the pet names, Father's indication of good mood. To speak of all that happened yesterday would ruin it. Oh, dear. I'm in great trouble.

I mustered a reply without breaking my voice. "Good morning, Father."

"Are you okay? I was looking for you last night but your mother told me you didn't want dinner. I understand, though. Yesterday must have been quite a day."

I smiled, not the genuine smile, but a forced and shaky one. Relaying the news is getting harder by the minute. "It's been a while since I traveled such distance. I was just exhausted and needed to rest. I'm sorry if I refused dinner."

He grabbed a dish cloth and approached me as he wiped his hands clean. "It's okay, Lavender. How was your visit back in the mansion? Is the prince doing well?"

I gulped. Here it comes. "He's… doing fine."

"And the painting?"

My fingertips have gone cold. "About that…"

"Lavender?"

Truths or half-truths? Lies or white lies? Father was beginning to worry upon my sudden silence. If I speak of the truth now, he'd be saddened. If I lie, the shame of deceiving a parent will forever haunt me.

"Noriko?" Oh, dear. He's not using pet names anymore. I should speak up.

 _Now_.

"Well taken care of," I answered.

He beamed. "Fantastic! Your uncle can finally be at peace, and so will I."

I bowed my head to hide a wince. Truths and half-truths and lies and white lies don't matter anymore as the extreme guilt punched me in the gut after hearing my father say that. My mind was trying to convince me that everything will work out. All I needed to do was to swallow my pride, return to the mansion, and sign the painting so that not only Uncle or Father, but me included, will be at peace as well.

The conversation was easily diverted to another topic when I informed my father about my plans this afternoon. He was concerned about my dinner so told him I'll make sure to join them tonight. He pecked my right temple, careful not to damage the hair I've worked so hard on, and handed me the packed lunch. I said my goodbyes and left the mess hall with yet another shaky smile.

Mother didn't offer me a parasol.

\- x -

Working in the public library isn't so bad. I never would've discovered the bliss of engulfing myself in books had I not worked as a librarian; (1) It's pleasing to watch people work hard to outwit their capabilities and broadening their minds to new ideas, (2) The silence is comforting and the whispers of flipping pages gives peace to me, and (3) I can read and borrow books whenever I want—perks of being a librarian.

What I find tiring is dressing up for work.

Unlike other families, we prefer less people walking around the house; the main reason why we only hired two maids. Thanks to our family's reputation in arts and with the influence of a royal family, we lived just above the lowest status. I fully understand the limits of our comfort. That often times we need to take care of things on our own like household chores or shopping in the market. Our maids were always confused, but as months go by they got used to it.

But dressing up for work is still tiring. Why? Because I can't do my hair. It takes me half an hour to achieve a tolerable result. However, if I am extremely late, I gather my hair into a ponytail, which would have been acceptable in workplace if my hair wasn't so long. Thus, by the end of this year's summer, I let my mother cut my hair.

And I had not expected Umehito to be so devastated.

I bit the insides of my cheeks. Why must Umehito invade my mind in the middle of work? It seems distracting myself from yesterday's events by working is not… working well. Earlier, I messed up arranging the books into alphabetical order, got scolded, and was forced to sit behind the counter to accommodate book borrowers.

I dislike working behind the counter.

After shutting myself from the outside world years ago I became reluctant to interact with people, family and close friends an exception, even for the sake of manners. Working behind the counter opens that interactive opportunity that I'm not so eager to take.

At least I'm allowed to read some books while I wait for book borrowers.

A loud thump on the counter interrupted my reading time. I resisted the urge to scowl as my eyes skimmed through the pile—seven thick books. Binge borrowers are inconsiderate and line-starters. Impatient borrowers behind the said borrower would often express their irritation to me for not working swiftly enough.

Good thing no one's following behind this borrower.

Upon inspection, I noticed that the books he intend to borrow are all related to one thing—mercury poisoning. I would've ignored the whole subject. I would, as I always did, stay out of a person's affairs.

I would've done that, until one book struck my attention. I spoke out of curiosity.

"These are…" I trailed off. This is the first time I initiated a conversation with a borrower and I was oblivious on how to proceed. I looked up and studied the borrower in detail. He's dressed up as a gentleman who possesses soft features and missing some edges most young men of his age tend to develop. Maybe a little younger than me _._ A brunette with clear eyes panicked once he understood my inquiry based on how speechless I became after inspecting each books.

"Y-you're mistaken!" he defended. "I have no plans on poisoning anyone. This is a background study of a case I've recently been given with— _er_...more like a favor from an upperclassman."

I let out a soft laugh. "I wasn't implying so. Forgive me," I held up a particular book, the one that caught my attention, "But what does this book have anything to do with mercury poisoning?"

"Oh, this," he pointed, " _Dragon's Blood, Cinnabar Pigment_. I just thought it would relate since the victim is a painter."

Cinnabar pigment. Of course. It's been used since ancient times, however was proven dangerous after discovering its mercury content. I know this because uncle oriented me about toxic paints.

Painters are unlikely to die from cinnabar exposure today. Most painters are knowledgeable of its dangers.

And yet he said the victim was a painter. Strange.

"Good luck with the case," I said. "May I have your library card for a brief moment, please?"

"Certainly," he answered as he shuffled through his pockets. He handed the card over.

I squinted, reading the name on the card once more. "Haruhi Fujioka?" The name sounds familiar. Where have I heard of it?

Oh.


End file.
